A Merry Little Christmas
by EDuse2
Summary: Steve is stuck on a stakeout that just won't quit on Christmas Eve. The PG is for some mild language. Thanks you - you guys were just wonderful! (All done)
1. Default Chapter

_A/N: I actually wrote the first part of this story and outlined the rest around Christmas last year while I was bouncing on a bus around Mexico. I pulled it out this year to see if I could get it done on time for the holiday and if it was even worth finishing. _

_Well, "on time'" is a relative thing, but I suppose that for those of you who celebrate Epiphany it's fairly timely. "Worth finishing" was a harder problem and I demurred more or less every step of the way, for any number of reasons. But a good and generous friend, who faithfully reads every silly word my keyboard produces, told me that it should be finished and then posted for others to enjoy. So here it is. And I hope you do. But if you don't then, hey, blame her. _

_Consequently, this is dedicated to her, with many, many thanks for everything, and to all those folks who, like me, spend far too much of the holidays in airports. _

**A Merry Little Christmas**

_Hark the…bring…ald Angels…bring…glory to our newborn…bring…! Peace on Earth…_

Steve pressed a hand tightly over his ear and tried to block out the Christmas carol blasting from the speaker overhead and focus on the rings. How many had that been?

_And mercy mild…bring…_

What was it about muzak anyway? Did they play it so loud because they figured that sheer volume compensated for quality? Had that been three or four rings…? Voicemail clicked on, answering his question, and with a resigned sigh, he cleared his throat.

"Hello, Dad? It's me, Steve." _Like he suddenly wouldn't know who he was. _Making a face, he continued, "Listen, this is running a little later than I hoped - you know how criminals are - no respect for the holidays." He chuckled unconvincingly. "So I may not make it in time to help set up for the party in Pediatrics. Sorry about that. I should make it for the end, though. Tell Jesse not to hog all the punch before I can get there. Oh, and Dad? There should be a package - delivered Federal Express. Could you just put it in the study, out of the way, for me? And don't shake it, okay? And don't peek. Sorry I'm late, Dad. I'll talk to you later." With another sigh, he depressed the button and broke the connection.

"Yeah, I know. I just made the same call."

Steve glanced over to see Sergeant Biddle smiling sympathetically in his direction. Steve smiled wanly back.

"Makes you think about a nine to five job, huh, Biddle? You got family?"

Biddle shrugged. "My wife and little girl. My baby's only a month old so she'll never even notice if I don't make it, but it's her first Christmas and - " he shrugged. "You know."

"Yeah." Steve tucked his phone away. "My Dad'll understand, of course, but he's all alone and…well. He just loves Christmas."

Biddle nodded. "You too, huh?"

Steve smiled reluctantly. "Yeah. Me too."

Biddle slapped him on the back. "Well, look on the bright side." Steve raised his brows and Biddle's grin broadened. "We could be working retail."

Steve gave a short gust of laughter, readjusting his headphones and settling his shoulders back against the wall, his eyes on the screen in front of the surveillance officer. In the speaker over his head, _Hark the Herald Angels Sing _was replaced by a Las Vegas lounge version of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_. He sighed again before he could stop himself.

_Yeah. I'm sure gonna try._

_0000_

Steve pressed speed dial and waited. _One ring. Two. _Yikes. Was that…? _Three. _Yup, that was_ Santa Claus is Coming to Town. _More or less_. Four. _In Reggae. Yikes. Definitely less_. and…_Darn. Voicemail.

He cleared his throat again, unconsciously rubbing at his eyes. "Hi, Dad. Me. Look, I don't think I'm going to make the party in Pediatrics at all. I'm sorry, I know you were counting on me…but I should be there in time to set up for the party at _Bob's_. This guy can't stall forever. Say, look, you're sure there was no package…? Because they guaranteed me - never mind, Christmas mail, I guess. Stupid to expect…" He rubbed at his forehead this time.

What the heck was he going to do about that now? He'd been counting on that package. Well, he'd think of something. There were places open all night on Christmas Eve, weren't there? "So anyhow, I'll see you at _Bob's_. Tell Jesse not to blow the budget on desserts and tell Amanda I'm sorry I missed CJ's caroling. I know I promised - "

"Lieutenant?"

He broke off and lowered the phone at Sergeant Cahill's soft interjection.

"He's on the move."

Steve nodded briskly. "Gotta go, Dad." He hit the button and folded the phone in one smooth motion, lowering the mouthpiece on his headset. "All right, everybody on alert! He's headed toward baggage. And remember - do NOT get him before he has his hand on that suitcase! We need it actually in his possession to make this stick! And be careful!" He rested his hand lightly on his gun for a second, a habitual gesture of comfort. "Okay, everybody - you know your positions. Move out and keep in touch. And for God's sake, don't forget that this place is crawling with holiday travelers!" He glanced over the surveillance officer's shoulder at the monitor. "If we do this right, we're all home in time for eggnog."

The speaker exploded with a syncopated version of _Oh Come, All Ye Faithful_.

Steve grimaced. "Hey, I'm doing the best I can," he muttered.

0000

"Hey, Dad? It's me again." Steve's eyes never left the monitor. Lowering the phone for a second, he hissed, "What the heck is he doing?"

The surveillance officer, Cahill, shrugged. "Maybe he's got time to kill before his flight."

Steve swore, remembered the phone too late. "Sorry about that," he mumbled into the mouthpiece. "Look, Dad, I _may_ not be there in time to help set up at _Bob's_ after all. This guy just doesn't seem to want to play ball. Tell Jesse I'm sorry, huh? I should be there in time to help serve, though…" And he still had to stop someplace to pick up a holdover gift for his Dad, too. Without that package…"Anyway, I hope your Christmas Eve is going better than mine, and I'll see you soon."

_Wonder how Dad would feel about a couple of pounds of ribs for Christmas? Never mind that he was one third owner in a barbeque joint himself… _"Tell everybody at the hospital Merry Christmas and - damn!" He leaned toward the monitor as the perp suddenly slowed his walk, then turned and took off at a run. "Dad! Gotta go!" He broke the connection abruptly. "What happened?"

Cahill shook his head. "Must've made somebody or something. Looks like he's headed for Concourse C - "

"Great," Steve grumbled as he tried to follow his quarry's progress through the crowds. "And nobody'll even notice him because he looks like another traveler running late for a flight connection - get me security on the wire - "

He waited while the audio surveillance officer's quick fingers switched channels and until he nodded to him to go ahead.

He nodded back his thanks and spoke into his small mike. "Our man is on the loose. I need this airport locked down now - nobody leaves, no planes, no people - I don't care who they are." He paused, listening. "I don't care how you do it, but nobody has better communication than an airport and I know for a fact that once you shut those gate doors…thank you." He rolled his eyes expressively at Cahill who grinned in response. His gaze swerved back at the monitor and he frowned. "He still on C - ? Biddle?" he snapped into the mike. "He's coming your way, look alert - "

He saw Biddle emerge gracefully from a telephone alcove, cheered silently as he put himself neatly in their suspect's path. They went down in a heap together, Biddle on top and reaching smoothly behind him for his cuffs.

Steve puffed out his breath in approval. All right - he'd be home in time for a Christmas toast yet.

The cheer turned to a curse as the perp swung his free arm, a flash of something clutched in his fist. The image was too small to give him a good look at what had happened, but he could see Biddle recoil, and the red stain that blossomed on his sleeve.

"God d- Biddle's down." _It was stating the obvious, really. _"I'm going out there. Keep an eye on our guy and keep this channel open. See if you can rouse some kind of medical help." Steve switched his headset for a portable mike and earpiece and touched his gun one more time for luck, pushing his way through the door and into the maze of airport corridors. He heard the click of the surveillance room door behind him just as the speaker joyfully burst forth with an energetic version of _Here We Go a Wassailing_.

He shook his head. Somebody up there sure had a sick sense of humor.

0000

Steve strode toward Concourse C, deftly dodging the thick passenger traffic, blending in. He muttered into his mike, "I'm headed toward Biddle and Concourse C - Stiles and Harper, keep alert at the baggage carousel - he might be doubling back. Everybody sound off, please?"

He carefully counted his officers in his mind as they sounded off one by one, turned left onto D Concourse, eyes scanning for Biddle. _Everybody in place - good. _

He spotted Biddle half-propped against the wall, clutching his arm, and hurried toward him. Nobody seemed to have even paused to help and he swallowed a resigned sigh - _Merry Christmas, 'tis the season, I guess _- and dodged across the steady stream of foot traffic, neatly leaping over a passing wheeled suitcase to crouch at Biddle's side.

Biddle opened his eyes at the touch on his arm and blinked up at him. "Hey, Lieutenant," he said blearily. "Looks like I lost him. Sorry about that."

Steve shrugged, tearing Biddle's sleeve away to get a better look at the wound. "We'll get 'im - don't worry about it. What did he get you with?"

Biddle shook his head, closing his eyes again. "Beats me. A shiv, maybe? Never even saw it. Wonder how he got it past the gate security…?"

Steve shook his head mutely, wrapping the remains of the sleeve around the wound and pulling it tight. "Looks like you'll be home for Christmas Eve though - hey!" He raised a hand to flag down the driver of an electronic cart. He flashed his badge and the driver pulled over . "This man needs medical attention. Can you bring him to the courtesy desk - see that he's taken care of?" He helped Biddle into the passenger seat of the car, giving his good arm a final pat. "Kiss your daughter for me. And tell your wife there's no need to thank me for this."

Biddle snickered. "Yeah. Funny what some guys will do to get home for Christmas. Sorry I won't see it out. You guys be careful, huh?"

"Always." Steve signaled the driver to go. "Merry Christmas, Biddle." He watched the car pull away, just as his earpiece crackled again.

"Lieutenant?"

Steve wiped his bloody hands mindlessly on his shirt. "Here, Cahill. Have you got a fix on him?"

"Yeah - we found him on Concourse F - one level up from where you are right now. I'm sorry, sir, but it looks like you're the closest."

Steve groaned. _Well, what was a little exercise._ "Which way am I headed?"

"Go to Concourse B - straight ahead - there's an escalator there that will take you to F. I think he's just trying to lose us now - from there he can easily double back to baggage."

Steve nodded. "What's the matter with these guys? Does he think we wouldn't have anybody stationed in baggage? Anyway, I'm on my way. Tell everybody to stay alert."

He glanced around for signs directing to Concourse B, the burgeoning chords of _Hark, Hear the Bells_ pushing him onward. He hopped on the left side of the down escalator, jumping up the moving steps two at a time against the traffic, clicking his tongue impatiently at the luggage-bearing travelers blocking his progress.

_Come on, come on folks - it's standing traffic on the right, moving traffic on the left - airport etiquette…_

_On the other hand, going up on a crowded down escalator isn't considered the best etiquette either…_

He broke through a couple leaning against each other a few steps from the top of the escalator just as his prey set a foot on the upper step behind them, heading down. Steve grinned wolfishly.

_All right. Serendipity. About time._

He'd be dipping into pumpkin pie and listening to Christmas carols before he knew it.

The muzak continued to hammer from the speakers overhead and he made a face. On second thought, forget the carols. His father would consider him a heretic, but he'd had enough of those to last about a lifetime. But pie sounded good - he'd settle for the pie.

He grabbed the wrist hovering in sudden doubt over the escalator railing before his perp could identify him as a cop. The perp yanked his hand reflexively in his grasp, but between Steve's iron grip and the impatient,oblivious crowd pushing from behind, he was stalled in place at the head of the escalator.

Steve got one foot next to him on the stationery metal plate at the top of the moving stairs and twisted the arm expertly up behind the man's back, bracing him stomach-first against the escalator railing.

He reached for the cuffs on the back of his belt, trying to catch his breath. Hm. Going the wrong way up an escalator was tougher than he'd expected. Maybe he needed to start lengthening his daily runs on the beach…

"You're under arrest," he panted.

Not, he mused regretfully, as good as catching him with the goods, but at least this way they could hold him for a while and they couldn't play hide and seek with him among all these civilians much longer. Too risky. If they got the suitcase, maybe they could create an evidence trail yet.

"You have the right to remain silent. Any - " A warning flickered way back in his mind as he reached for the other hand - a faint memory of a similar moment with Biddle - just about a second too late.

He felt the sudden light release of fabric giving way and the faint whisper of cool air across his thigh, followed by a thin, barely discernable sliver of pain. At the same second, an impatient traveler pushed past him, jostling his grip. The perp's shoulder bucked, catching Steve in the chest with the force of a well-aimed boxing glove.

Steve clawed at his prisoner's sleeve, made a grab for the railing, but the rolling stairs melted away from under him as if they had never been, throwing him backward into space. His skull bounced off of something sharp with a metallic twang, and the downward momentum threw his knees over his shoulders, his shins meeting forcefully with the sharp edges of the steps, his weight and gravity tossing him into another skewed somersault, carrying him inexorably downward, head and knees and elbows caroming painfully off of the moving stairs topsy-turvy, until they finally flipped him against the chill linoleum-covered concrete with and audible splat.

He lay for a moment, just thankful to be still, and watched with vague interest as the fluorescent lights above blossomed into a hazy nimbus that swallowed the ceiling, the hushed tomes of _Silent Night _humming everywhere.

His last conscious thought before the lights went dark was that he wished that somebody would turn off that damned PA system.

TBC…

_A/N: Heck, you knew that was coming, right?_


	2. Bah Rumpa Pum Pum

_**#2 Bah Rumpa Pum Pum**_

"Lieutenant…?"

_Bah rumpa pum pum. _

Bump. _Ouch. _

_A newborn_…"Lieutenant? Lieutenant, are you all right?"

_Bah rumpa pum pum. _

Bump. _Damn. _

_I have no…_"Lieutenant?"

It was like an annoying fly buzzing in his ear and he reached up to swat it away, missed and slapped against something hard and cold instead.

_Bah rumpa pum pum Rumpa pum pum_…

Bump. _OW. _What…?

_I'll play my drum for him, bah rumpa pum pum_…

Oh, man. Was that drumming in his head, or…?

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

…_my best for him, ba rumpa pum _

_Ouch. _

_Rumpa pum _

_Ouch - oh, for - somebody turn it _off_, please_…

"Maybe somebody better call 911. Sir - ?"

_I AM 911. _

_Rumpa pum pum_

_ouch. _

_Rumpa pum_…

What in the name…

It came to him gradually that the fly buzzing in his ear was familiar and he groped for his earpiece. "Cahill?" he croaked.

Bump. _Ow._

"Yes, sir." Cahill sounded relieved. "You okay, sir?"

"It's Burton from Security, sir. You've had a bad fall."

_Oh. _

He pried his lids apart far enough to make out a shadow hovering over him. There were two voices, then…

Bump. _Ouch_.

He turned his head slightly (_ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch_…) trying to get a better look at his predicament. Right in his line of vision he could see his right foot, still resting on an escalator step, rising with the stair, only to be dropped onto the next one as the first one rose out of reach. No wonder he felt…bump. _Ouch. Damn_.

He bared his teeth in a grimace, inching his foot at an angle until it teetered from the step and fell to the floor with a bang that made sparks shoot across his vision. _Crap. _No, that was better…

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

Two different voices, one from the inside of his head and one from the outside, and he pushed himself to try and respond. "I'm okay." Yeah. That sounded bad, even to him.

"I'd better call - "

Steve squinted hard and reached randomly, snagged a wrist and curled his hand tightly around it.

"Don't -" _Sheesh - give a guy a minute, would you? _He tried to shift his jacket with his other hand to show his gun and badge. "Police."

He must have succeeded, because the security guard's "Oh" of understanding sounded impressed. "You're with…?"

"Yeah." He had his eyes open all the way now - well, almost all the way - trying to get his bearings. "My attachment. Could you please help me sit up? Cahill?" He slapped one hand against his ear mike, a little harder than he'd intended. Cahill's voice shot through his inner ear on a shrill squawk of painful feedback.

"Right here, sir."

"Sir, I'm not sure - you fell pretty hard."

Steve pressed a hand tightly over his eyes as the feedback ricocheted through his temples. _Gently, gently, one of you at a time_…"I've had worse," he offered hoarsely. _Maybe. Probably. _

Burton carefully angled him upright, and the sudden swoop of the walls around him had him clutching frantically at the security guard's uniform jacket for ballast.

"Sir, I really think - "

"I'm fine, I'm fine - " _Liar, liar_… He tried a reassuring laugh that came out sounding pained and hollow and sent another ice pick lancing through each temple. He really really really needed to stop getting hit on the head in the line of duty…or off, for that matter.

He forced a smile and tried to focus both eyes simultaneously on Burton's face. Burton looked more alarmed than reassured and he tried another smile, freeing one hand from its deathgrip on the uniform jacket to adjust his ear mike. "Cahill?"

"Still here, Lieutenant. You okay?"

"A little worse for wear…" he rubbed at an insistently throbbing spot on the back of his skull and the sparks returned to dance in front of his eyes, bigger and brighter than before. "Just tell me that we didn't lose him."

The silence on the line stretched and Steve swore, louder than he intended, gave Burton an apologetic glance. "Okay," his voice dragged wearily. "Everybody sound off - "

He listened to each officer's call, kneading idly at a growing tightness at the back of his neck. All present and accounted for. "Who saw him last?"

There was a moment's buzzing hesitation, then Cahill's reluctant voice responded, "Probably me, sir. I - got distracted when you took that header down that escalator."

"Great." Nice to think that he was the cause of them losing sight of him. _Merry Christmas to me._ He stopped a sigh before it could become audible. "All right - everybody stay alert - especially you guys in baggage claim. If he hasn't shown up there yet, he will - he's not going anywhere without that suitcase. I'm heading back to the surveillance room."

Burton from security laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Er - sir - I think you need some medical attention. We have a nurse - "

Steve pressed a fist against one temple, then the other. "It's just a bump on the head. I'll take some aspirin - "

He had been using Burton's shoulder to lever himself to his feet, but one leg disappeared from under him and he hit the linoleum with a jounce that rocketed clear up his spine and imploded behind his eyeballs. He groped automatically for the missing leg, frowned at it in surprise when he felt skin and dampness instead of denim there.

The upper thigh of his jeans was gaping open from a neat slash, the tattered edges drenched with a dark, spreading stain.

_Oh, great_. He'd forgotten about that. He pushed his hand against it to slow the bleeding.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed heavily. "Medical attention it is."

Burton dragged one arm over his shoulders and jimmied him to his feet. Steve stumbled a little on his bad leg, then found a sort of balance. He glanced fully at Burton for the first time and swallowed a groan. _Better not lean too hard. The guy looked about a hundred and five._ They shuffled forward like two hopeless candidates in a three-legged race.

Somewhere overhead began the opening bars of a new Christmas carol, and Steve had to make a fist to stop himself from drawing his gun and shooting out the speakers.

_I'll Be Home for Christmas. _

_Right _

_Why don't you just get off my back? _

_TBC_

_A/N: Actually, I think it's me that really really really needs to stop hitting Steve on the head…except for my first story, I never really start out meaning to…it just happens._


	3. Oh, Holey Night

_**#3 Oh, Holey Night**_

Steve closed his eyes as Burton helped lower him into one of the stiff little chairs that lined the small room, his fingers automatically fumbling for his ear mike as the security officer wandered off to find the nurse. "Cahill?"

The mike crackled. "Here, sir."

"Got him yet?"

"Not yet, sir. But we're on it."

"Stiles? Harper? Anything?"

"No, sir."

"Sorry, sir."

Steve refused to sigh. That was becoming a habit. "Well, look alive. He's out there somewhere." _And with my luck he's hunkered down in the men's room for the night. I could be stuck here all night_. The PA system chimed in with a cheery rendition of _Most Wonderful Time of the Year _and he reached up to rub a swelling headache away from his eyes.

_Okay, I get it. Give it a rest, already_.

"Sir?"

He dropped his hand from his eyes and looked up to see Burton's anxious, wizened face before him, a rounder face surrounded by a halo of fuzzy brown hair floating over his shoulder.

"Here's the nurse. She'll take good care of you." Burton turned to address the floating face. "He's a police officer."

Sounded kind of like the way someone might say, "He's the King of Denmark", Steve mused absently. Nice change from the fear and revulsion his occupation usually engendered. Burton seemed to evaporate before his eyes, replaced by the sturdy bulwark of the nurse peering down at him.

"Well, this is a little change from air sickness and flight attendants with the stomach flu," the nurse remarked cheerfully. "What the heck happened to you, officer?"

"Lieutenant," he corrected automatically. "Fell. I just need to be patched up enough to get back on my feet. As quickly as possible."

"Really." The nurse was thoughtfully probing the surface of his skull and he jerked involuntarily. "Cracked your head a good one, I see."

She had his head in a firm grip, or Steve would have nodded. "A little aspirin would take care of that."

"I've got aspirin." The nurse's tone didn't promise anything. "What happened here?"

"Oh…" Steve followed her gaze to his now-tattered blue jeans. "Had a little run-in with a perp - think he must have made a shiv out of something - ex-cons learn a lot of good tricks in prison. If you could just put a bandage on that…"

"How'd you blow the knees out?"

_Oh. _

He hadn't even noticed that. But indeed, both legs of his jeans were torn to reveal abraded, seeping knees and shins underneath. "Probably the escalator. A little mercurochrome - I could dab it on while you take care of the laceration. I'm pretty used to it. My father's a doctor."

"And then you can get back to work."

"Right. I've really got to nail this guy down - "

The nurse rose to her feet and retreated to a door at the back of the room. Her voice trailed behind her, underscored by the Christmas carol from overhead. "Were you ever in the service, Lieutenant?"

"Steve," he offered, trying to hide his surprise. "Yeah. Vietnam. Why do you ask?"

"I did a tour in Desert Storm." The nurse reappeared with a small cart of stacked drawers. "You know, they've really got to stop teaching you guys to get back up no matter what."

"Look, Nurse - " He tried to get a glimpse of the name tag pinned to her capacious bosom - _K. Petrillo, NP_. "Petrillo. I'm not trying to be a hero here. I've got an armed felon running around this airport and I'm down a man - I can't afford to be down another, and I don't have time to wait for reinforcements - especially on Christmas Eve, when we're short staffed to begin with. And to be perfectly honest, I'd like to be home, sitting next to my own wassail bowl, any time now. I need to wrap this up. I'm just going to be sitting in a surveillance room anyway, directing things. If you could just tape me together long enough to do that, I'd really appreciate it."

Nurse Petrillo placed a length of clean gauze over his thigh and guided his hand to it. "Hold that there. Karen."

Steve obediently pressed on the wound, a little baffled. "Huh?"

"Karen. If you're Steve, then I'm Karen. Keep pressure on that. You want some Christmas punch?"

"Um - " Steve glanced down at the stain spreading across the cloth under his hand and grimaced. "Sure."

Nurse Karen retreated to the back again and returned with a small paper cup and a cold pack. She handed him the punch, then lifted his other hand from his leg and threw the stained cloth into a plastic container labeled "biohazard", replacing it with a pressure bandage and placing a cold pack in his free hand instead. "Put that against the back of your head. Cheers - the punch is my secret recipe. I inherited it from my mother."

Steve flinched as the cold pack made contact with the pulsing spot on the back of his skull and sipped tentatively at the punch while Nurse Karen busied herself with his leg. "Tastes just like Hawaiian Fruit Punch," he remarked, shifting the cold pack to a more comfortable position.

"Darn. You've guessed my secret. Now, don't go giving that away - my mother would never forgive me."

Steve surprised himself with a laugh. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Should have known I could trust a police officer."

Steve settled deeper into the undersized chair as the PA system hummed on about tidings of comfort and joy. Well, maybe joy was stretching it a little, but he was feeling a tiny bit of comfort. He took another sip of the too-sweet punch. "So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this on Christmas Eve?"

Nurse Petrillo bared his arm and snapped a blood pressure cuff around it, pumping the cuff full of air. "Same as you. Working. I always try to take this shift so the ones with kiddies don't have to." She noted the reading and let the cuff deflate.

"That's nice." Steve thought about his father and Jesse and Amanda, expecting him, and lowered the cold pack, suddenly feeling as deflated as the blood pressure cuff. "Still, families comes in all shapes and sizes. I don't have any kids, but I'd still like to be celebrating Christmas Eve with my family."

Nurse Petrillo had one of the plastic drawers open and was wielding a sharp pair of sturdy scissors. "Well, my family is a pair of cats and they don't really know one day from another, as long as I feed them and keep the litter box clean. You know, it would probably be best if I just cut both legs out and made these a nice pair of shorts."

Steve scowled down at his torn and stained jeans, crumpling the empty paper cup and winging it at the biohazard container. "This may be California, but it's also December - I can't be running around the airport in shorts - I'm supposed to be inconspicuous."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant - er, Steve - you can't be running around, period. I thought you were just going to be sitting around, directing."

"Well, mostly." Steve watched in alarm as she ruthlessly slit one pant leg up to his injured knee and carefully peeled the cloth back. When she was satisfied with her work, she continued upward to the knife slit and tore the cloth away all the way around. Steve felt it was time to protest. "I can't be seen in public in these."

"All the more reason to go home." She lifted the pressure bandage to look. "This is probably going to hurt. I can butterfly it for now, but you may need stitches there. Since your father's a doctor, you know that you have a limited time to get them put in before it's too late and you're just stuck with an ugly scar?"

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, I have more than my share of ugly scars. One more won't kill me."

"Well, I think it's a shame. Such a pretty leg."

"Funny."

"Who's joking? You know, they do have a store for athletic wear here. Maybe we can get you a nice pair of sweat pants that won't irritate your knees."

Steve watched dismally as she sliced her way up the other pant leg. "Good idea - hey!" _D -. _

He closed his eyes hastily against the dull concussion of pain that that unwise exclamation started in his head. More quietly he continued, "How late are the stores open here?"

Karen glanced up at him, eyebrows high. "I'm not sure, on Christmas Eve. Nine o'clock, maybe."

Steve was thinking quickly. What could you buy in an airport gift shop that would make a nice holdover gift for his Dad? His burst of optimism slid rapidly south. Probably a t-shirt, visor and mug saying "I Love California" weren't the most meaningful gifts for a man who had spent most of his life there. His spirits sank a little lower. A whole wall of kitschy refrigerator magnets didn't seem very special either. Or an odd collection of oft-forgotten travel toiletry items.

"Keep this leg still for me - "

He tried to keep his leg immobile, sorting and discarding gift options in his mind. After a moment he realized that Nurse Petrillo didn't seem to be treating his leg, and he glanced up and caught her studying his face.

"You look like somebody shot your dog."

"I haven't had a dog for years," he answered automatically. "It's just - the gift I ordered for my father didn't come on time, and now I'm trying to think of where I can get something to give him until it does come."

"You mean between chasing felons and flying down escalators."

Steve squirmed a little as she pushed a salve-laden cue-tip into the slash on his thigh. "I'll admit the timing's inconvenient. But I have to come up with _something_."

Karen blotted at some fresh bleeding with a gauze patch. "You don't think your father would understand?"

"Of course he would - " Steve closed his teeth hard as she dug in deeper. _Man, that stung. And medical personnel always seemed so surprised when you weren't in a rush to receive treatment. _He sucked in a breath as she paused to reach for a clean bandage. "It's just - "

_Just what? _How could he explain that the idea of Christmas morning and his father without something special from him to open took a lot of the luster out of the day?

Feeling awkward, he averted his eyes, decided that watching her dig into his leg wasn't too appealing and let his gaze skim the walls instead. His casual perusal came to an abrupt halt, fixing on the wall clock as if it had personally betrayed him. "Is that really the time?"

Karen glanced up from her work on his leg. "You know, I have about a hundred smart answers to that, but I'm going to take mercy on you because you look like you've had a rough day."

Steve patted anxiously at his pockets. "I can't believe it's so - " he found his phone and flipped it open, hitting a speed dial button. He counted rings again, covering one ear to block out a steel drum rendition of _Jingle Bell Rock _from overhead. He ground his teeth. "They pipe those through all day and night?"

"Sure. It's Christmas."

This time Karen kept her eyes on her work and Steve was forced to cough abruptly to cover an involuntary expletive as she dug deeper still.

"I know, I know - " _Three rings…_"It's just - hello, Dad?" Voicemail. Well, of course it was, he was busy at the party, probably. "Yeah, it's me aga - " he broke off with a yelp as the cue-tip went a little too deep.

He moved the cold pack automatically to his forehead, rubbing absently. "Um - I guess you can see that I'm running later than I hoped. I know I missed serving, but tell Jesse I'll do all the clean up duty, promise. Provided he saves me some food. I'm going to be starved by - ouch!" He slapped a hand over the small mouthpiece and pressed his lips together, waiting until he was sure any other unwise sounds were thoroughly quelled before continuing. "Anyway, I'll get there as soon as - Dad?" He frowned suspiciously at the phone, flattened it against his ear again and listened hard.

_Damn. Hung up_. Of course it had - voice activated answering system. It would assume he was finished when he stopped talking for too long. He studied the phone forlornly, uncertain of what to do. Call back? The message was pretty clear, but…well…he had at least hoped to say Merry Christmas.

Never mind. He'd say it in person yet - he would.

"There's a pretty nice leather goods store."

"What's that?" For a second he had forgotten about the nurse, though the bandage being pulled tight brought his attentions painfully back to her.

"Here at the airport. You know - shaving kits. Daytimers. Briefcases. Stuff like that. Got some nice things."

"Oh." Dad had a shaving kit. A Daytimer would be beyond him - he would always be leaving it at the hospital when he needed it at home and at home when he needed it at the hospital, and the image of him with a briefcase made Steve smile, it was so incongruous. Still, there might be something. Maybe a case for his laptop. "That's a good idea. Thanks."

"There's a good bookstore, too - if your Dad likes to read. And one of those scent places - you know the kind. Aftershave and shower gel and body lotion. That kind of thing."

_Yeah, okay. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than a rack of ribs or the refrigerator magnets. _"I appreciate it."

"I'm just trying to soften you up before I take care of those knees. You might want to swallow these first."

Steve opened his palm obediently for the tablets she offered and tossed them quickly back. He noticed Nurse Karen staring at him, her face puckered with distaste. "What?"

"I would have gotten you another glass of punch."

"No need."

"Careful - I'll start to think you don't like it."

"The best Hawaiian Fruit Christmas punch I ever had."

"You keep that up and you'll be stuck sampling some Christmas cookies too."

"Another secret family recipe?"

"Yup. Just like Mom's. If you're really good while I do your knees, I'll tell you how she got the word _Nabisco _on them."

Steve chuckled, even though he recognized that the items she was lining up on a tray meant that the next few minutes were going to be painful. He tried to distract himself by mentally following the lyrics to _Holly Jolly Christmas _from above. "That's okay. I have a feeling I've got that one figured out." He winked solemnly. "After all, I am a crack detective."

_TBC_

_A/N: Sorry - I intended to post this last night, but like poor Steve, the fates seemed to conspire against me._


	4. Nuttin' for Christmas

_**#4 Nuttin' for Christmas**_

_And wild and sweet, the words repeat_…

"Steve?"

… _peace on earth, good will to men_…

Oh, yeah. He liked this one.

…_I turned away and bowed my head_…

"Steve. Lieutenant."

…_is_ _no peace on earth, I said. For hate is strong and blocks the song_…

_Hate. _He started awake with a jerk, blinking back the dark fuzziness that sloshed in every corner of his brain.

There is no peace on earth. No, there isn't. A nice thought of course…he flattened his palms over his face, trying to subdue a dull pain that pulsed behind his cheekbones in time to the music.

No peace. Peace keeping was his job. Which was the reason he was supposed to be -

"That's better." Cool fingers peeled his hands away from his face and cupped his jaw. "Let me see your eyes." The fingers tilted his head this way and that, until he reached up decidedly and stopped them.

"Not a good idea," he choked.

"I'm betting you're a little concussed. I was afraid you might drop off if I left you alone. I have a cot in the back if you want to lie down."

Lying down on stakeout. That would set a great example for his men. As it was…"Cahill?" With his luck he'd been snoring and Cahill knew anyway. Actually, in that case they'd all know, since they were all on the same frequency. This was just great.

"Yes, sir." Cahill's voice sounded hushed, as if he was trying not to disturb him.

Perfect. Well, nothing to do but push on and accept whatever ribbing came with it. "Any sign of him yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

Steve nodded dismally, remembered that Cahill couldn't hear that and said, "Okay."

Karen held a pair of navy sweat pants up in front of him and his mouth turned up in a grateful smile. "I'm heading back to surveillance in a minute. Keep sweeping. You other guys too. He's got to be here somewhere - he can't hide forever."

In an airport full of holiday travelers? Who was he kidding? Of course he could. Karen shook the sweatpants meaningfully at him and he hesitated.

She raised her hands heavenward in exasperation and mouthed, _I'm a nurse!_

He hesitated one second more, but another glance at the clock had him lumbering to his feet.

Wow, he was stiff. His back was tight as a board and his knees were hot with pain. Turning away to muster some semblance of privacy, he removed his Sam Browne with the gun and badge and cuffs still attached and lowered it carefully, then hastily unbuttoned what was left of his jeans and dropped them.

"Nice butt," Karen's cheerful voice observed helpfully.

He whirled back around, making a grab for the chair as the quick movement scuttled his fragile balance, and then positioning it in front of him as a shield. "Could you hand me those, please?" He found himself suddenly wondering, with a dull sinking feeling, how much of this was carrying back to the surveillance team.

"If you insist - " She held out the sweat pants so that he had to let go of the chair with one hand to grab them. "But I don't think you'll be able to get them on by yourself."

Steve scoffed. "I'll have you know I've been dressing myself since - " he paused, staring thoughtfully at the sweatpants. He was going to have to let go of the chair with both hands. That didn't worry him so much, but the thought of balancing on one foot as he tried to insert the other into a pant leg…and then bending each knee high enough to…well, damn.

Karen clucked sympathetically. "See, stubbornness doesn't actually compensate for everything. Why don't you sit down and I'll help you?"

Steve glanced anxiously at the clock again and surrendered to the inevitable. He hobbled around the chair and lowered himself awkwardly into it, bending his knees as little as possible. "Do you know how many years it's been since somebody's put my pants on for me? Wait - " he held up a hand, hearing the potential implications in the words too late. "No smart remarks!"

Karen smiled. "Would I do that?"

Steve gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

"The other was just professional strategy - to keep you off balance and get you to give in quickly. See how well that worked?" Steve growled non-commitally as she gathered one pant leg and slipped the elastic cuff over his shoe. "Not that you don't. Have a nice one, I mean."

Steve dropped his hand from its tender exploration of the back of his skull. "You don't know a Dr. Jesse Travis by any chance, do you?"

"I don't think so." She neatly slid the other elastic cuff over his remaining shoe. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Steve accepted the edge of the waistband from her as she tugged the soft fabric gently up over his injuries, then he stood stiffly to pull them up the rest of the way. "You remind me of him."

"Dr. Travis thinks you have a nice…?"

"All right." Steve held up a hand again to stop her before she could finish and almost lost his grip on the waistband. "God, I hope not. I just meant that you both seem to have worked your way through medical school via a comedy club."

"Hm." Nurse Petrillo eyed him suspiciously. "Is that a compliment?"

"I haven't decided yet. Could you - um - " he gestured to his Sam Browne and she picked it up, making a face as she lifted it.

"This weighs a ton." He took it from her without comment and buckled it on. "Better buckle it tight - you don't have any belt loops."

Steve felt a faint draft at his ankles and looked down the length of his navy sweat pants. "No extra long?" he asked resignedly, noticing where the cuffs stopped.

"Sorry."

He looked at his Sam Browne, sagging precariously around the top of the sweat pants, noticed for the first time that one jacket sleeve was torn away about halfway up and the other elbow split. Well, this was certainly the professional, well-groomed appearance the LAPD liked its officers to project.

"Here."

He was adjusting his gun in its holster, but looked up to seeNurse Petrillooffering him a couple of pieces of paper and a small vial of pills.

"The prescription is for an antibiotic - always a good idea with open scrapes like that. The sample is in case the pain gets bad. I recommend a CAT scan at the earliest possible moment. The list is for your father - what I've checked and what I think should be watched."

"Thanks." Steve gave her a smile and stuffed them carelessly in his jacket pocket. He pulled something back out of the pocket and held it out to her. "Say, Karen - I'm sure your cats are good company, but like you say, they don't know one day from another, so if you find you'd like a little human company, why don't you stop in and help us celebrate Christmas? There's drinks tonight and dinner tomorrow - my Dad loves a real open house. Even if I don't make it there on time, he'd love to have you - just tell him I invited you and what happened. Oh - and take his wildly apocryphal stories about me with a ton of salt."

Karen took the card from him and read the private address on the back. "Wild stories, hm? Tempting. I might just take you up on that, Lieutenant Steve. Now, I have one of those carts waiting for you - you go home and get some real treatment as soon as you can, right?"

"I promise. Stop by so I can thank you and really wish you a Merry Christmas. Bring the punch - Dad'll get a kick out of it."

"I might even bring the cookies."

A shrill horn sounded, and Steve started his stilted progress toward the door.

I think I saw this walk in _Bride of Frankenstein_, he thought ruefully. I won't be doing any foot pursuit like this.

He told the driver the general direction of the surveillance room.

Karen steadied him while he climbed into the small electric cart, then helped him boost himself into the seat. "You know, after a closer look? I don't think I gave it just dues. That really is a _very_ nice - ."

Steve made a face and shook his head. "You sure you don't know Jesse Travis? Because somehow, it seems like you should."

She patted his better leg and gestured the driver to take off. "I think it's you that brings it out in us."

"Trust me. That's just what he'd say."

Choral voices harmonizing _Do You Hear What I Hear _in chirping tones from every speaker as they pulled back onto the concourse reminded him that he should check in. He adjusted the small mike on his collar. "Cahill?"

"Here, sir." Cahill's voice was polite and controlled - too much so, barely suppressed merriment underlying it.

Steve kneaded his eyelids, trying to estimate how much he might have overheard, then gave it up. Nothing he could do about it now. He was about to ask for an update, when he heard Cahill's sharp intake of breath, followed by a subdued war whoop. He automatically pressed on his ear. "You got something, Cahill?"

"Got'em, Sir," Steve smiled as he overheard what sounded like the slap of a high-five from over the earpiece. " - moving fast."

Steve stiffened with excitement, trying to tune out the Christmas carols, the beeping of other passing carts, the rumble of the crowds. "Where?"

"Baggage. Look at that. We got'em cold."

"Harper and Stiles - get ready. Manning - stand by to offer back up." Steve turned to the driver of the cart, who was carefully manipulating them through the traffic. "There's been a change of plans. Can you get me to baggage claim?"

The driver didn't take his eyes off the other traffic. "We're not allowed in baggage claim."

Overhead, Bing Crosby was now dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones he used to know.

Sounded good, but he'd have to make time for his own dreaming later - right now he had things to take care of. He rubbed a thumb along the handgrip of his gun. "Then get me as close as you can."

_TBC_

_A/N: Mean to Steve? Me? How can you say so? :)_


	5. Baby, It's Cold Outside

_**#5 Baby, It's Cold Outside**_

_'As close as he could'_, to Steve's chagrin, turned out to mean near the top of another escalator. Over the railing he could see baggage claim stretching out below on one side, ticketing on the other.

_Surely there had to be an elevator around here somewhere…_he glanced around, but no friendly sign was readily visible. He made a face. _Don't be such a baby, Sloan. Just get on the darned thing. Hold onto the rail if you have to, but you're wasting time._

He studied the baggage claim area below again. His heart skipped a beat as he spotted their perp, circlinga baggage carousel on one side. All hesitation gone, he stepped onto the first moving stair. His stomach dropped and pitched a little at the first lurch of movement, but he quickly forgot it at the sight of Harper, moving in to get behind their perp. He touched his ear. "Cahill?"

"Here, sir."

"Change of plans - I'm on my way to baggage in case Harper and Stiles need backup. Manning, you ready too?"

"Yes, sir." Manning's voice crackled with static, but came through.

"Good. Everybody look alert. I think this is finally it. And remember that damned shiv - we don't need anybody else sliced up."

The woman riding next to him on the escalator gave him a peculiar look, as if wondering why he was talking to his shirt. He offered her a weak smile and returned his eyes to Harper. He was almost right behind their man. The perp, in turn, had one foot resting on the rim surrounding the carousel, watching for his bag.

Come on, Steve urged silently. Come on! Grab it!

Harper shadowed the figure, waiting for him to make a move, trying to blend in with the rest of the travelers. The perp leaned forward, stretching for a passing bag, and Harper pushed his way right behind him. Steve craned his neck over the escalator railing, holding his breath. Above him, the music promised that it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go.

Yeah, he breathed to himself, it really is. Come on, now - just grab it -

The perp almost had his hand on the bag when, without warning, he suddenly reared back and turned on one heel, kicking the other at a nearby luggage cart. The luggage cart shot directly at the surprised-looking Harper, who caught it in the stomach and cannoned backward into the crowd of hopeful travelers watching anxiously for their suitcases. They all went down in a heap like bowling pins.

Steve swore before he could stop himself, gave an apologetic grimace as the lady next to him looked at him again, disapprovingly this time, but he was already trying to get his unyielding legs moving, pushing through the startled escalator passengers. "Harper's down - " he barked into his mike. "Manning, move in - Stiles - where the heck are you?"

Was this guy psychic or something? His men were good - he knew they were - how did he keep making them? He could see their man skip away from the tangle of tourists as Harper struggled to extricate himself, saw him reach for the bag again, clasp the handle.

Impatient with his progress, Steve braced his hands on the moving railing and swung himself over the top, dropping the distance to the linoleum floor and landing in a clumsy crouch. He felt a suspicious tearing across his thigh as the butterfly bandages gave and a flash of agony that upset his shaky balance and dropped him to his burning knees. For a second the world was washed with red and he touched the floor with one hand, trying to right himself, then forced himself to his feet in a stagger, blocking out a series of worrisome sensations along his legs. _Probably that was going to hurt like hell later…_

He shambled with a taut-legged limp towards the baggage carousel just as the perp yanked his bag free. He gauged the distance between them, hissing his disappointment, eyes sweeping the area for some glimpse of Stiles. He saw him trying to push his way through the crowd. He wasn't going to make it on time either.

"Manning…?" _They couldn't lose him again - they just couldn't…_

Steve tried to pick up his pace, but his body refused to cooperate. The perp swung around with the bag in his grasp and tried to dodge into the crowd. A bulwark of flesh blocked his path.

"That's my bag."

Steve stared at the broad woman in stretch pants and a bulky sweater with Santa's face emblazoned across the front, parked immovably in front of his perp. He certainly didn't recognize her as one of his. She had a full face that looked as if it might usually display a jolly smile, but the rigors of holiday travel had long since stamped that smile out.

She reached out and clamped her hand around the bag's other handle. "I've been waiting for three hours for that bag to show up. It's mine."

The perp glanced nervously toward where Harper was still trying to unearth himself from the luggage cart and pile of quarreling, overtired bodies, and pulled on the bag. "You're mistaken. This is mine." He gave it another hard tug for emphasis.

Steve breathed a thankful prayer for holiday travelers and circled around behind him, trying to get closer, cursing his own pathetic pace. He touched his gun, wanting it ready, but resisting the urge to draw it in this crowd.

"It's mine!" The woman didn't give an inch, towering over the small, wiry perp, as solidly immoveable as Mount Rushmore.

"It's not!" The perp's voice was a hiss, his eyes locked on Harper, who was now sitting up. He tugged again, more forcefully. "It's my bag! See? It's got a yellow ribbon!"

"I always tie a yellow ribbon on mine." The woman pulled back, almost yanking the smaller man off of his feet. Steve was closer now - not close enough to grab him, but close enough to hope he could at least block his path if he tried to escape. "I've been waiting and waiting for this bag and I'm not going to let go now. Give it to me!"

"Lady, I said this is my bag and I mean it's my bag! Now let go!"

"YOU let go - or I'll call the police!"

Nice, Steve thought approvingly. That ought to give him pause.

The perp did indeed hesitate for a second, and Steve, suddenly remembering the shiv, figured he'd better find a way to move in fast before a civilian got hurt. It must have occurred to the felon that reaching for the shiv would mean letting go of the bag, because instead he leaned back with all his weight and pulled, putting his entire body into it.

Steve rested his hand on his gun, trying to close the distance. There was the sharp, rending sound of plastic and cloth giving way and the bag split open, tumbling its contents all over the hard floor.

The crowd exploded into murmurs of mixed horror and amusement at their first entertainment in hours, watching with interest as a series of multi-shaped bundles, wrapped in plastic garbage bags and secured with duct tape, spilled out and scattered the linoleum. One of them, about the size and shape of a soccer ball, rolled toward Steve and he lifted one foot to stop its progress, anchoring it with the toe of his shoe.

The woman blinked in surprise at the oddly shaped contents, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the nasty aroma emanating from them. "Guess it wasn't mine," she admitted indifferently.

The perp stared wildly at the scattered pieces, followed the progress of the one to Steve's shoe, then up from the shoe to Steve's face.

Steve gave him a broad, indulgent smile, indicating the wrapped bundle at his feet. "I believe you said that this was yours?"

The perp met his eyes and Steve could tell that he recognized him from the escalator. He saw a mortified but determined-looking Harper pick himself up and dust himself off, moving in with his cuffs at the ready, Stiles still working his way through the crowd toward them. He watched the perp's eyes as he took note of them too.

They were blocking all the exits. He had nowhere to go.

Steve relaxed a little as Harper got the perp by the shoulder, making a big show of displaying his cuffs.

Steve shook his head. _Hamming it up a little for the crowd_.

He'd have to have a talk with him about that later. But it was Christmas and…he allowed himself a satisfied smile. It was finally over.

Keeping Stiles in his peripheral vision as Harper read their collar his rights, he glanced at the clock again and grimaced. He'd better slip in a quick call. Then he'd really love to get off of his feet - Karen was right. Running around did not agree with him right now.

He chose a new speed dial number since the party at _Bob's_ must be just about over and his Dad would be heading home. Besides, there was a good old-fashioned tape machine at the beach house that wouldn't hang up on him if he paused too long. He listened for the rings, watching as Harper closed the cuff around one of the perp's wrists, and used the brief wait to contact the surveillance room. "You getting all this, Cahill?"

"Got it, sir. This mean we're going home?"

"Pretty soon now." He glanced over at Stiles, who was still fighting the crowd to reach them, holding his badge high to gain him access, but the cranky crush of travelers was slow to respond and let him through.

The rings stopped as the machine picked up and he smiled involuntarily at his father's cheery recorded holiday greeting. _That was Dad. Just a big kid at heart._

"Hey, Dad - " he began at the sound of the tone. "I know I missed everything, but it looks like we're about done here. I'm sorry about clean up, but tell Jesse that I'll make it up to him. I'm - "

_What the hell…? _Unexpected movement by the carousel drew Steve's eye and he lowered the phone, tensed automatically for action. With a gesture that had become all too familiar, he caught a quick flash of metal and saw Harper jump back, startled, loosening his grip.

I told you to watch for that, Steve thought impatiently, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and moving forward. That's what you get for showboating. We are DEFINITELY going to have a talk about this.

With a wild look, the perp pushed at Harper, staggering him, and jumped onto the baggage carousel.

For a second Steve couldn't imagine what he thought he was going to accomplish, then he saw him slipping and sliding on the moving conveyer belt, making his way toward the small opening covered with plastic flaps that baggage was loaded through.

_Damn, he was a slippery one! _

He glanced back to see where Harper was, then Stiles, realized with a sinking feeling that rippled all the way down his tattered legs that he was the closest again. Just seemed to be his night for drawing the short straw.

Over his shoulder he yelled for Stiles to secure the evidence and the scene, and moved closer to the carousel, not jumping on, but trying to cut the perp off before he could get to the opening that led to the outdoors.

"Harper's down again, perp's trying to escape through baggage loading, all you folks standing by outside get ready, get any remaining airline personnel OUT of the area - we're coming through! Aim but hold your fire - I'm still counting on making it home alive for Christmas myself!"

He lurched forward and made a grab for the perp, but the man was too quick and right now Steve was too slow.

He dodged Steve's grip and dropped to his stomach, scrambling through the grey strips of rubber that protected the inside from the weather and sliding through.

Steve set his jaw. _Wonderful. Guess the only thing to do is to follow. _

He threw himself awkwardly full-length at the conveyor belt before he could think too much about it and ducked his head, covering it with his arms as the stiff rubber pattered at his face in time to a mellow quartet trilling to let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

The music disappeared, replaced by a hiss of rain as a thin, grey deluge peppered him, seeping into his hair and dousing his clothes.

Funny, he thought. Somebody up there is really, really funny…

He rolled off of the conveyer belt and onto the ground, catching himself with something less than his usual athletic grace. He could see the perp just ahead of him, pinned by the beams of multiple spotlights that sliced the wet darkness, heard a voice, magnified many times by the bullhorn, announce, "You're surrounded. Drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them."

The perp froze for a second, glancing around in surprise. Steve wiped the rain out of his eyes and waited for the final surrender.

The perp started to raise his hands, but this time Steve knew enough to expect the unexpected, so when he saw him jerk toward a baggage trailer, he was ready for him. He gathered himself to jump and threw himself in the opening on the other side of the trailer just a heartbeat behind, catching his sodden quarry in a clumsy tackle that sent them both skidding along the small metal floor. They jettisoned through the flimsy curtain, the floor disappearing beneath them and the moist air whipping past them, and slammed into the wet tarmac.

Steve felt the jar when they hit all through his bruised back and up into his aching head, but he held on tight, mentally cursing California's rainy season as they rolled through a puddle, fountaining muddy water everywhere; cursing irregular duty; cursing criminals who never took a damned day off, even for Christmas. The perp was hammering his abused back with his fists and his one cuffed wrist and Steve knew he didn't have the wherewithal left to hit back, so he just held on grimly as they tumbled like an oddly made log across the blacktop, first one on top and then the other, pummeled by the rain.

An explosion of gunfire rattled the night from all sides, brightening it with flash, scenting the damp air with the heavy odor of gunpowder, and they stopped rolling by mutual,unspoken agreement and lay still, huddled together, waiting for it to pass.

One round was followed by a second round, then a third, and Steve finally yelled, hoping some of it would carry over the mike, "All right, all right! Hold your fire! I'm here too, you know."

The gunfire stopped, but in his mind's eye Steve could visualize them still standing at the ready, waiting.

The wiry figure was sopping and still underneath him. Remembering the shiv, Steve used his superior weight to keep him pressed against the ground anyway, trying to grab his breath back. "You'd might as well give in," he gasped, sucking in air. "We've got you covered. We've got the evidence - better to make it easy on yourself."

He hoped the answer wouldn't be a shiv across some new part of his body, but the form trapped underneath him squirmed a little, then nodded defeatedly.

"Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah. I give up."

Steve didn't let go, but he did allow himself to collapse limply on top of him, suddenly worn to weary immobility as the wind whipped the rain against him. He closed his eyes, but permitted himself a grin. "Somebody want to get out here and book this guy?" he called in the general direction of his microphone.

It was probably his imagination, or maybe a background remnant of sound carrying over the ear piece, but he could swear that he heard the triumphant burst of the opening chords of _Joy to the World, _plain as day.

_TBC_


	6. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christ...

_**#6 It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas**_

_Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree…for me…I've been an awful good girl, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight…_

Steve rubbed a hand over his eyes and thought about asking the cab driver if he could turn the music down.

_Santa baby, an out-of-space convertible too - light blue - I'll wait up for you, dear…_

No, no, there was nothing more Scrooge-like than asking somebody to turn off the Christmas carols. That is, if _Santa Baby _could actually be counted as a Christmas carol. Well, no reason to ruin everybody else's good time, and after today he could probably already expect Santa to leave a switch in his stocking without making it any worse.

_Santa honey, I want a yacht and really that's not… a lot…_

He slid a peek into the shopping bag at his feet. It wasn't totally satisfactory - in fact, it looked a whole lot like something somebody would buy at an airport gift shop at the last minute - but it was better than empty hands and an apology. Full hands and an apology instead. Well, it was a little better anyway.

He let his head rest against the stiff cab seatback, careful to avoid putting pressure on the pounding spot where the growing bump was.

He had been able to turn the collar over to Manning, who had braved the rain to join him on the tarmac. One of the airport baggage handlers had shown up with a set of keys so that his return visit inside could be made upright, instead of with another trip via the baggage conveyor belt. He had paused just inside of baggage claim, trying to wipe his face free of water and take stock. He saw Stiles busily keeping civilians away from the scattered suitcase contents, assisted by a red-faced Harper. He limped over to them.

"You hurt, Harper?"

Harper's color deepened. "No, sir," he growled.

Steve nodded. "Good. Then you can wait for the technicians and start tagging all the evidence here. See that it's safely stowed and signed off on before you call it a night."

"Sir?" Steve looked over at Stiles, who was virtually standing at attention, like an army private at inspection. "Sir, I've started that job and I'd really like to see it through. With your permission, sir."

Steve sighed through his nose, a motion that provoked an ache somewhere under his skin, and he shifted uncomfortably to try and relieve it. Well, Stiles was evidently the gung-ho type and Harper was one lucky son-of-a-gun to have him as a partner. He nodded. "Okay - Harper, you stay and help him."

Harper ducked his head in a nod and Steve put a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could return to the job at hand. "Harper - " He waited until Harper reluctantly met his eyes. "Look, we'll talk about this. But in the meantime, put it behind you and have a Merry Christmas, okay?"

Harper had flushed even more deeply, but his expression lightened some. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled. "You too, sir."

Steve slapped his shoulder lightly and looked down to see if he still had the microphone attached. "Cahill? You still out there?"

"Yes, sir!"

The rain probably hadn't been good for the mike because his voice sounded scratchy with static, but at least it was there. "You guys start breaking down. Mark and preserve the tapes."

"Yes, sir. We'll see you back at the station."

_The station. _

Steve groaned inwardly, pushing his hair off of his face and trying to squeeze some of the water out of it.

Paper work. His favorite. But it didn't take everybody to write this up - at least, not right away.

"Look, Manning, you get this guy processed and stowed for the holiday, Harper and Stiles, you take care of the evidence, Cahill, you and the surveillance team make sure your stuff is all marked and packed up and delivered. The rest of you inventory your weapons and sign your logs and then go home. I'll get enough of the paperwork started to keep us out of trouble. Merry Christmas."

There was a brief silence on the line.

"You sure, sir?" Cahill sounded torn between hope and duty.

"I'm sure. Go on - have a nice holiday. You've earned it."

"Thank you, sir!" Cahill's voice was jubilant and Steve shook his head, leaning back against the wall to take some of the weight off of his rubbery legs. "And, sir?"

"Cahill?"

Cahill's voice was solemn now. "I just want you to know, Lieutenant, that Nurse Petrillo did not overstate. I too have always been a great admirer of your - "

"Cahill." Steve broke in firmly.

_Hell. I'm going to be in hell when I get back to work. _

"You might want to think carefully before you finish that - I could still find a whole lot of paper work for you to do."

"Yes, sir." But Cahill sounded more gleeful than alarmed.

A faint background of snickers echoed across the wire and Steve ground his fingers in first one eyelid, then the other.

_Oh, yeah. This was going to be hell, all right._

"And Cahill."

"Sir?" This time, Cahill sounded a little more cautious.

"That was good work tonight. All of you."

"Thank you, sir." There was a return of the sound of high-fives being slapped and backs being pounded and Steve felt his mouth turn up in a faint smile. Just a bunch of kids, most of them. Maybe they should meet his Dad.

That thought reminded him that he had been stopped in mid-call earlier and he fumbled through his pockets for his cell phone. He pulled out a handful of plastic fragments and stared at it in dismay. _Oh, great. The LAPD owes me a cell phone. _He pushed himself away from the wall and back into motion. _And a pair of jeans. And a jacket._

_Santa cutie, there's one thing I really do need - the deed - to a platinum mine…_

He opened his eyes and glanced dispiritedly around the cab and then at his shopping bag again. _Not exactly a platinum mine, Dad - sorry. _He looked out the window to gauge their progress. They were making good time. That was one good thing - not a lot of traffic on Christmas Eve. He closed his eyes again. That familiar, dozy-bleary feeling told him that Karen was probably right - he was probably a little concussed. _So no bourbon in my eggnog. Oh, well…_

_Santa baby, I'm filling my stocking with a duplex - and checks. Sign your 'X' on the line…Santa baby…and hurry down the chimney tonight._

_Come and trim my Christmas tree…with some decorations bought at Tiffany's…I really do believe in you…let's see if you believe in me…_

He tugged the shopping bag protectively closer.

He had sat staring at his computer for what seemed like a long time, trying to get enough of the basic elements of the evening's events on file to keep everything legal and in order. The station echoed with emptiness except for one or two skeleton-staff detectives scattered at their desks, fielding calls, and Mimi Waters, the desk sergeant on duty, who had a sprig of holly tucked behind one ear and a branch of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling over her head. He had dutifully leaned over the desk to give Mimi a kiss on the cheek and wished her a Merry Christmas before settling down to work. She had complained that he was wet, so he'd snagged a cup of tepid, watery coffee in hopes of warming himself up. But that sad excuse for coffee wasn't going to warm anybody. Maybe if it had a shot of something stronger in it. Of course, he was still on duty, and if he was really concussed he shouldn't be touching alcohol. He'd wondered what would happen if he ignored that rule, just this once. Would his head explode or something?

He had been massaging his temples, trying to coax some level of focus so he could finish up, when he'd heard his name called and looked up. Captain Newman was standing just inside his office door.

"I just got back in myself. Didn't hear everything, but it sounded like things went well."

"Yeah." Steve leaned back in his chair, glad to take his eyes from the computer screen. "A couple of glitches, but it came out okay. I'm just writing it up now."

Newman strolled over to Steve's desk. "Where's the rest of the team?"

"I sent them home. Figured I could get things started myself."

"Hm." Newman studied him keenly. "You take a detour through a woodchipper on the way here?"

Steve smiled a little and shook his head slightly. "Naw - little accident is all." He made a swipe at his face to get rid of some of the water still dripping from his bangs. Newman walked over to the coffee station and grabbed a roll of paper towels and tossed it to him. Steve caught it and tore off a few to scrub at his hair.

"I heard some of it - Harper screw up?"

Steve blotted at his face for a minute before answering. "Might be too strong a word," he said at last. "Got a little sloppy. Sure likes the limelight, though. Might be better off in the PR unit if something opens up there."

"I'll keep it mind. Somebody medical took a look at you, right?"

"The airport has a nurse practitioner."

"Thought I heard something like that." Newman meandered back to study the computer monitor over Steve's shoulder. "Why don't you head on home, then? I have the tapes and heard enough to get things started here. Just send me that file you're working on. You can pick it up and fill in the details the day after Christmas."

Steve hesitated. "That's a little irregular, isn't it?"

Newman shrugged. "You're on medical leave for the day as of now, officially. I just said so. I'm betting this nurse practitioner will back me on that. Go on. You look like hell and your dad is waiting for you."

Steve decided that he didn't need telling twice. He forwarded the file to Newman's email address and told the computer to shut down. "What about you? Isn't somebody waiting for you on Christmas Eve?"

Newman stretched and started back toward his office. "That's part of the joy of being a divorced man, Sloan - nobody looking for you on Christmas. Have a good time. Give your dad my best."

Steve picked up his shopping bag and turned off the monitor, hesitated. "Look, Captain - my dad always prepares too much food and then looks hurt when there aren't enough people to eat it. Why don't you come for dinner? I know he'd love it."

Newman folded his arms over his chest. "I might take you up on that. You're not cooking, right?"

Steve gave him a speaking look. "I'll be pouring drinks. Dinner's at three."

"I'll be there, then. And Steve - don't drive, right?"

"Don't worry - I'm calling a cab."

"Good. I'd hate for any carelessness to cause damage to your - er - much-lauded posterior charms."

Steve closed his eyes and counted to five. So. Captain Newman had been there for that part? He was never going to shake this one. Ever. "Very funny, sir," he offered dryly.

He could hear the grin in Captain Newman's voice. "Merry Christmas, Sloan."

_Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring… I don't mean a phone…_

"Your stop, Mac."

Steve sat up slowly and peered through the rain sheeting the window. Lights twinkled along the roof of the house and outlined the door, and a Christmas tree shone bright in the front window. He smiled, carefully gathering his bag and trying to protect it from the rain.

"Thanks." He glanced at the fare on the meter and counted it out, then looked for a good bill for a tip.

_Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight. Hurry down the chimney tonight. Hurry down the chimney…_

I'm hurrying. "Here you go. Merry Christmas."

"Hey, wow! Thanks, Mac! You too!"

_TBC_

_A/N: Thanks for hanging in there. Almost done now._


	7. There's No Place Like Home for the Holid...

_A/N: Some of you clearly know me far too well._

_**#7 There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays**_

Despite the rain, he took a second to admire the house and how festive and Christmasy it looked. It warmed him much better than the weak coffee had.

He noted with relief that both Jesse's sports car and Amanda's SUV were still parked in the driveway as he trudged his rigid-legged way up the steps to the front door and pushed his key into the lock. A rush of warm air hit him as he entered the foyer and he stood for a minute, enjoying it, before calling out, "It's me! Sorry I'm so late…"

He dropped his shopping bag in the corner. He could bring that downstairs later for wrapping. The wrapping table had been closed by the time he got to it, so Dad would have to be satisfied with his clumsy efforts. He straightened carefully, making a futile effort at adjusting his tattered jacket before starting up the flight to the second floor.

Funny, but it seemed really quiet. He had expected talking and laughter and - well, Christmas carols. His Dad was crazy about Christmas carols. Where the heck was everybody?

"Dad?" He waited before continuing, "Jess? Amanda?"

He was more than halfway up the flight when his father appeared at the top of the stairs, Amanda right behind him and Jesse peering over the banister.

Steve let out his breath in a rush. "There you are - I was getting worried."

Mark stayed where he was at the head of the stairs but reached over to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders, searching his face intently.

The grip on his shoulders was almost painful and Steve was at a loss as to what to make of his father's expression, so he kept talking, a little nervously. "Sorry I missed everything. How was the party at _Bob's_…?"

Mark lifted one hand to finger Steve's hair, squeezing out a rivulet of water. His expression crumbled. "You're soaked," he said abruptly. "Let me get you something warm to drink." Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen.

Steve stared after him, speechless.

"I'll help him," Amanda offered hastily, and followed.

Steve stood flatfooted, feeling obscurely disappointed and vaguely hurt. He noticed Jesse, who was shuffling anxiously at the top of the stairs, and caught his eye. "What's going on?"

Jesse gave him a tight smile, then touched his shoulder to turn him around. "Come on - let's go down to your place. I'll help you change into something dry."

Any other time, Steve might have asked what made him think he needed help, but this time he was too filled with more important questions. Had he ruined everything? Ruined everybody's Christmas Eve?

He let Jesse shepherd him into his bedroom and didn't resist as he pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. He felt him tug at the remains of the jacket, then stop.

"What's all this blood about here? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." _Physically, anyway. _He tried to think back to any reason for blood on his jacket, remembered Biddle. "Oh, yeah - it's not mine."

"Good." Jesse pulled the jacket off of one arm and Steve roused himself enough to help.

"I can get that." He slid out of the jacket and dropped it on the floor, then started to pull his t-shirt off over his head. It was transparent from being wet through and he heard Jesse give a low whistle from behind him.

"Okay, you've stumped the doctor. How the heck did you get those marks on your back?"

"Went down an escalator the wrong way. When I say the wrong way, I mean without the use of my feet."

"Yeah, that would account for it." Jesse watched him throw the t-shirt next to the jacket on the floor and scooped them both up. "Your laundry basket is full of clean clothes - where do you want these? They're really wet."

Steve tried to get his mind off of the peculiar reception he had received and onto the present task. "Um - the tub, I guess. I can do it, Jess."

"You work on getting out of those sweatpants - which look like they were made for me, by the way. Who the heck dressed you this morning? Here - " He tossed a towel that caught the unsuspecting Steve in the face.

Steve lowered it without comment and rubbed mindlessly at his hair. The vigorous movement cleared his head a little. "I did not look like this when I left the house." He unbuckled his Sam Browne and set it carefully aside, unfastening the gun and the badge and cuffs and stowing them in the drawer of his bedside table. "Believe me when I tell you that it was a long journey from there to here."

"I believe you." He could hear Jesse behind him again, jumped when he felt his probing fingers on one of the bruised scrapes. "Did anybody palpate your ribs?"

"I think so…" Steve looked around for his jacket, remembered that it was now in the tub. "I have some medication in my pocket and some notes…how was the party at _Bob's_? I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

"Hey, don't worry about it - " He could hear Jesse in the bathroom now, rooting through the tub. "I figured you were just getting even with me for that time I made you miss the Christmas Party to serve dinner to those indigents. Who's Karen Petrillo, NP?"

"Your soul mate."

"Yeah?" Jesse poked his head out of the bathroom. "She pretty?"

"No. But you'd like her. You might even get to meet her if you were coming to dinner. Too bad you're going to your Mom's tomorrow."

"No thanks." Jesse's head disappeared back into the bathroom, but his voice trailed after him. "Whenever somebody tells you that you should meet somebody they always turn out to be the most obnoxious, irritating person on the planet."

"That's what I said - your soul mate."

Jesse's head reappeared. "That's not funny. You're just taking advantage of the fact that I can't hit you right now without betraying my Hippocratic Oath."

Steve lifted a skeptical brow. "You were going to take a swing at me?"

Jesse ducked back into the bathroom, his voice trickling through the doorway. "No, but I was going to hit you with a really cutting reply." There was a pause, punctuated by shuffling sounds. "Okay, I've got the medication - what were the notes?"

Steve picked at the knot at the waist of the sweatpants. Water made it tough and unyielding. "I didn't look at them - aren't they there? I think there's a prescription too."

"You mean these?" Jesse emerged with two soggy scraps of what might have once been paper in his hand, their surfaces blotted with blurry, illegible ink blobs under the heading _Karen Petrillo, NP_. "Your cell phone looks like it could use a doctor, too."

"Yeah, I have to remember to write that up for Newman. Oh, well. The prescription was for an antibiotic. The rest wasn't important."

Jesse gave him a look. "Of course not," he agreed sardonically. He stopped and stared. "What the heck is that?"

"Oh, that." Steve, having freed himself from his sweatpants, peered resignedly at the open slash across his thigh, still bleeding sluggishly, a few butterfly bandages half-clinging valiantly to it. "That's how I ended up going down the escalator without the use of my feet. I think it's about stopped bleeding."

Jesse turned on his heel. "I'm getting my bag."

"You bring your bag to a Christmas celebration?" Steve called after him.

"I knew you'd be there," Jesse shot back. He reappeared, hefting his faithful doctor's bag. "I've got some samples of a new adhesive skin closure a pharmaceutical salesman gave me to try - you can be my guinea pig."

"Oh, thanks." Steve watched him pull out a package and a bottle of disinfectant. "Sales_man_, huh?"

"They don't like to be called saleswomen," Jesse explained virtuously. "It's sexist."

Steve snorted. "I'll bet you collect more samples than any doctor at CG, just to see a pretty face smile."

Jesse's grin broadened and he waggled his brows. "I like to stay cutting edge." He lifted the bottle of disinfectant and Steve jerked his leg back.

"She already did that!"

"Before or after you rolled in the mud?"

Steve hesitated. "Before…" he admitted reluctantly.

"Then I guess it needs it again. How long did this bleed?"

"I don't know." Steve watched him with uneasy fascination. "I think it started again when I went over the side of the escalator."

Jesse paused. "I thought you said this was the reason you fell down the escalator…?"

"This was a different escalator. I went over the side of this one on purpose."

"Never mind - " Jesse waved the explanation away. "I don't think I really want to know the gory details. Geez, Steve."

Steve shuddered a little as he watched him ready the antiseptic. "Are you really going to use something experimental? How do you know it won't make my leg fall off or something?"

"Just think of yourself as a pioneer for medicine." Jesse gave him his most angelic smile. "I'm almost sure that these will work."

Steve wrinkled his forehead. "Almost?"

"Pretty nearly." Jesse generously applied the antiseptic. "Look on the bright side - one more set of stitches and I'd be entering you in a crazy quilt contest. Bet I'd win, too." He tore open the sterile paper packaging. "These are supposed to be nice and flexible and help prevent infection."

Steve closed his eyes against the bite of the antiseptic. "Pretty nearly," he echoed dubiously.

Jesse patted his leg. "I guess we're going to find out. Want your clothes basket? Your dad and Amanda will be thinking that we ditched them."

Steve's mood dipped. "Yeah, thanks." He accepted the clothes basket and dug through it until he found a pair of sweatpants that fit and a flannel shirt. "He mad?" he asked abruptly.

Jesse was tsk-tsking at the sight of Steve's knees, but looked up at that. "Mad? Who?"

"My dad. He seemed mad."

Jesse rocked back on his heels in surprise. "No, he's not mad."

Steve gave his hair a final wring with the towel and slid his bare feet into the clean sweatpants. "I know I messed everything up, but this guy just seemed to stay one jump ahead of us. I called whenever I got the chance. I know it's not much - "

"Steve." Jesse helped him to his feet so he could pull up the sweatpants. "He knows that. He's not mad. He just - needed a couple of minutes. He'll be okay."

"I don't know." Steve finished with the sweatpants and eased his uncooperative arms into the flannel shirt. "Even genuine excuses only go so far after a while."

Jesse looked at him for a minute, then tugged on his sleeve. "Come on."

Steve followed him to the staircase, buttoning his shirt as he went. "Where are we going?"

"Just come on," Jesse called back over his shoulder.

Steve trailed him up the stairs, his knees complaining with every step.

An indistinct murmur of voices could be heard from the kitchen. Jesse went the desk and hit the button on the answering machine.

"What are you doing?"

Jesse held up his hand. The machine tape began, and Steve was startled to hear his own voice.

_"Hey, Dad - " _the tape crackled. _"I know I missed everything, but it looks like we're about done here. I'm sorry about clean up, but tell Jesse that I'll make it up to him. I'm - " _There were some bumping, scuffling noises, then his voice again, calling for Stiles to secure the scene.

Steve winced. He wondered if there was anything stupider or more embarrassing than having to listen to yourself on tape. If Jesse was trying to yank his chain, he was doing a good job.

_"Harper's down again, perp's trying to escape through baggage loading, all you folks standing by outside get ready, get any remaining airline personnel OUT of the area - we're coming through! Aim but hold your fire - I'm still counting on making it home for Christmas alive myself." _

Steve squirmed. "Jess, what - ?"

Jesse held up an imperious hand again. "Just listen."

More scrabbling noises, the jingling harmonies of _Let It Snow_, _Let It Snow_, _Let It Snow_ playing faintly in the background, a bump and a peculiar flapping sound, followed by a static-y rustle that must be the rain… _"You're surrounded. Drop your weapons and put your hands up where we can see them." _The bullhorn sounded muffled and far away. There was a crash and a splash, the connection seemed to cut out, then flicker back in, a crunching sound, and then the staccato stutter of gunfire. The phone cut out again and a buzzing noise died away to silence.

Steve reached over and turned off the machine. "So, you know how I spent _my_ evening. They really got carried away with the gunfire, huh? Guess they wanted to get home for Christmas too."

Jesse rolled his eyes in affectionate exasperation. "Listen again," he commanded. "And this time do it like you _don't_ know what's going on."

Steve stared at him and shrugged, wondering briefly if maybe Jesse had swallowed a little too much spiked eggnog before he got there. But he figured he owed him after leaving him with all the work at _Bob's_, so he sank into the desk chair and listened obediently.

This time, the sound of gunfire made Steve wince. When the tape ended, he reached over more slowly and hit the off button. He was silent for a long moment, then forced out painfully, "What did he think?"

Jesse leaned against the desk next to him and shrugged. "He insists that he didn't think anything - that he knew you were all right. But he played that about ten times and called the station - Newman wasn't there and there was nobody who was able to tell him anything. Then when you just walked in like that - anyway, I think he was pretty glad to see you."

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowed, then looked away.

Jesse gave his arm a playful nudge. "To tell the truth, I was kind of happy to see your ugly mug myself."

Steve smiled reluctantly, then frowned again. So he _had_ ruined everybody's evening. _I should have called from the station. Why didn't I think to call? _

"I've got to talk to him." He started to rise.

Jesse put out a hand to stop him. "Look, Steve - you know him best, but - I really think Amanda's got it covered. Maybe it's better to put it aside, you know? Just for tonight. Christmas Eve." He smiled tentatively.

Steve looked at him, a sudden rush of warmth in the middle of his chest. Jesse was right, of course - his father would hate to get into this in front of company - even company as important to them as Amanda and Jesse.

He cleared his throat and looked around the room at the soft lights and tinsel.

"So," he said instead, indicating the tree. "You shook your gift, didn't you?"

Jesse looked relieved at the change of subject, then indignant at the accusation. "I did not!"

"Yeah, you did." Steve strutted his odd gait over to the gifts under the tree. "I know you. Serve you right if you broke it." He bent carefully to pick up the present labeled, _To Jesse from Steve_. He pointed to the lopsided bow. "See that? Evidence, my friend."

Jesse looked cornered but dogged. "Circumstantial," he insisted.

"Ha." Steve waved it under his nose. "You going to try and convince me that Amanda did this? I'll bet if I dusted I'd find your fingerprints all over it."

Jesse snatched the gift away. "That doesn't prove anything. It's my gift - why shouldn't I handle it? Especially if you're going to keep us waiting all night? Here - " He tossed him one of the other gifts from under the tree. "Examine yours, if you have to play cop about everything."

Steve held up a finger. "_You_ play cop. I _am_ a cop."

"Yeah? Funny, because when you walked in here what you looked like was a victim. Fashion victim, that is."

"Are you two fighting even on Christmas Eve?" But there was a smile in Amanda's voice as she entered, bearing a large tray of frosted Christmas cookies.

Steve and Jesse exchanged an astonished look.

"We're not fighting," Jesse protested. "We're talking."

Amanda shook her head, setting down the tray. "Call it what you want. Or better still, fill your mouths so that we don't have to listen to it."

"Sorry, Amanda, but I've never known a full mouth to stop either one of them from talking." Mark smiled over a large punch bowl surrounded by glasses. "Sorry to take so long, kids, but I needed to make more eggnog. I don't know how we went through it so fast."

"I do." Steve looked meaningfully at Jesse.

Jesse selected a Christmas tree-shaped cookie and stuffed it in his mouth. "What did you want me to do while you were off chasing the bad guys? I get hungry. I'm a growing boy."

Steve cocked a questioning brow at him. "…growing?" he temporized meaningfully.

Jesse flicked a Russian tea cookie in his direction and Steve snatched it deftly out of the air and bit it in two. "I'm starved," he remarked as an afterthought.

"All right - eat, but don't play with the food." Mark ladled eggnog into glasses and topped each with some whipped cream and nutmeg.

Steve accepted his, trying to disguise that he was covertly studying his father's face. "I don't know why you go to all the trouble to make it from scratch anyway when you could just open a carton like everybody else," he remarked. "It tastes the same."

Mark looked shocked and Amanda and Jesse howled a protest.

"My son, the Philistine," Mark sighed. "They don't taste _anything_ alike!"

Jesse shook his head. "Steve, this is really wasted on you. Want me to take your share?"

"Gosh, thanks, Jess, but it seems to me that you already did with the first bowl!"

"No arguing."

Jesse and Steve exchanged an exasperated glance. "We're just _talking_," they insisted in unison.

"Then do it at a lower volume, please." Mark indicated a small decanter on the side of the tray. "You'll have to add your own bourbon. I left it out in case - " he broke off abruptly, cleared his throat self consciously. "Well, in case anybody didn't want it," he finished feebly.

Steve stared at him in amazement, his hand going automatically to the bump on the back of his head. How the heck had he known about that? He'd barely gotten a look at him! "None for me, thanks," he mumbled evasively.

"Me either," agreed Amanda. "I have to drive, and I have a little boy who will no doubt be rousing me at some ungodly hour of the morning."

Steve stretched his legs out carefully in front of him. "Thanks for waiting for me, Amanda. I was afraid you might have to hurry home to CJ."

"Oh, no - " Amanda daintily selected a star-shaped cookie. "CJ's with Colin's family for the evening, then Colin will bring him back to my place to sleep and stay through the morning. Things may not have worked out for Colin and me, but he's a wonderful daddy to CJ - I'd hate for him to not be able to see his son on Christmas morning."

Steve felt eyes upon him and looked up to see his father watching him quietly. When he saw that Steve had caught him at it, he gave a quick smile and bent his head to reach for a gift.

"Shall we open these before Jesse and Amanda have to go?"

"I think we'd better," remarked Steve dryly. "Before Jesse finds himself opening a package of broken glass."

"Broken glass." Jesse brightened. "That's a clue, right?"

"Red herring." Steve grinned.

Jesse frowned. "Is it really a red herring, or is the red herring you _telling_ me that it's a red herring…?"

Amanda threw up her hands. "Would you just open it?"

Steve slid his father another surreptitious glance and couldn't hold himself back any longer. "What's wrong, Dad?" he blurted.

"Wrong?" Mark looked startled. "Why, nothing's wrong." His eyes roved the room, lingering on the fire glowing in the fireplace and the small gathering in front of the tree, and he smiled, a true smile this time, and some of the subtle shadows of strain that had been lingering in his face fell away. "In fact, I'd say that things are really very right."

Steve caught his eyes and held them, half questioning, half apologetic. This time Mark returned the gaze, his own ruefully tender.

After a minute, Steve pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I know what's missing."

"Missing?" Mark's brows shot up. He drank in the room again. "What could be missing? I'd say everything we need is right here."

Steve started the laborious process of rising. Both Jesse and Amanda leaned forward automatically to help him, but he waved them away, creaking to his feet unaided. "Not so. We need just one thing to make this celebration complete. Really, Dad, I'm surprised at you for overlooking it."

"Oh, well," Mark sputtered. "I - had a lot on my mind. What with the - you know - the eggnog."

Steve nodded in solemn agreement, stumping his way behind the desk and fiddling with something. "That would explain it. Because no Christmas celebration is complete without…" he hit a button and sound flooded the room.

…_a thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices…_

Placido Domingo. Perfect.

"Christmas carols," he finished. He met his father's eyes and smiled.

…_for yonder breaks…a new and glorious morn…fall…on your knees…_

Mark's throat bobbed and this time he wordlessly held his son's gaze.

…_oh hear…the angel voices…_

"You're right," he agreed huskily at last. "That is what we were missing. It just wasn't Christmas without the carols."

_TBC_

_A/N: So now you probably know one of the reasons I hesitated to post. Despite the fact that I conceived the two stories nearly a year apart, I wasn't sure I liked the techno-similarity, though I suppose they are still very different stories. Don't like to repeat myself. Well, except for the hitting Steve on the head thing, which I really need to get over - maybe join a support group or something. _

_PS Lisa, I REALLY need to know who won the tug-of-war with the scarf. My money's on you._


	8. All I Want for Christmas

_**Epilogue All I want for Christmas**_

_So this is Christmas…and what have you done…another year over…a new one just begun…_

Wow. Now there was a happy thought. Steve gazed thoughtfully at the stereo, wondering if there was any way to shut it off without actually bothering to get up. Maybe a well-aimed pillow…

…_and so this is Christmas…I hope you have fun…the near and the dear ones…the old and the young…_

Or maybe not. He relaxed back into the sofa. That was a sort of nice sentiment. Besides, Dad would be really irritated if he broke the stereo. That drew his thoughts to the kitchen, where he could hear his father rustling about. "You sure you don't want some help?" he called.

"By the time you 'help', using that _Return of the Mummy _walk, I could be done three times over," Mark replied briskly.

"_Frankenstein_," Steve corrected, with immense dignity.

"Well, I knew I'd seen it in something Boris Karloff."

"Just remember that I offered!" Steve settled back again, lifting his feet slowly onto a handy nearby carton and getting really comfortable.

"Hold that thought. I'm sure I'll want your help tomorrow."

…_a very merry Christmas…and a happy new year…let's hope it's a good one…without any fear… _

Yeah. He could get into that idea. No fear. Oh, wait -

"I forgot to tell you - I invited Newman for dinner."

…_and so this is Christmas…for weak and for strong… the rich and the poor ones…the road is so long…_

Huh. Nice. That was sort of what he was working for. The road did seem long sometimes - on days like today, very long - but maybe it was worth it. Maybe it hadn't been such a lousy way to spend Christmas Eve after all. Maybe it had even been kind of worthwhile.

"That's nice. I wondered if we'd be expecting any lonely hearts."

Steve glanced at the kitchen doorway. "Hey, don't look at me. You're the one who's a sucker for every hard luck story to come down the pike. I keep trying to tell you how dangerous that is."

…_and so happy Christmas…for black and for white…for the yellow and red ones…let's all stop the fight…_

Mark appeared in the doorway, drying an empty punch glass. "And you, of course, are impervious - just a hard-boiled homicide cop."

'That's right," Steve agreed with satisfaction.

"Mm hm." Mark drifted back to the sink. "So, who else did you invite?"

"Karen Petrillo." If there had been any irony in Mark's voice, then it was lost on Steve. "The nurse practitioner who patched me up. She even went and got me sweatpants - it was the least I could do! Besides, she was planning on spending the day with her cats. What kind of Christmas is that?"

"Of course." Mark sounded politely indulgent. "What did she say about your condition, by the way?"

Steve hesitated, his hand going automatically to his head. "Well, she did say that I should probably - have a CAT scan at some point…I don't have to go to the hospital tonight, do I Dad?" Steve suspected that that had come out sounding a whole lot like a whiny five-year-old, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Oh, I suppose it could wait until tomorrow, since you're conscious and alert," Mark's voice carried over the sound of running water. "For tonight we can do it the good old-fashioned way. That means waking you up every hour or so to make sure you're oriented. It'll be my revenge for all those Christmas mornings you and Carol woke your mother and me up every few hours to see if it was time to open gifts yet."

Steve didn't smile. "That means that you'll have to be awake every hour, too. I'll set an alarm."

"What good will that do without someone to ask you who the president of the United States is? No, no - I claim this pleasure for myself. Jesse checked you out, didn't he?"

"Yeah…" Steve stretched his legs a little, testing them. "He used some kind of skin closures a pharmaceutical girl with long eyelashes foisted on him - I'm telling you this in case I wake up with gangrene or something."

"Really?" Mark was back in the doorway, rubbing out another glass and looking interested. "I've been wanting to try that product out. It's supposed to be an excellent alternative to stitches or staples - I'll have to monitor how it does."

Steve hid a half-smile. "I'm just a human petri dish to you guys, aren't I?"

"Well," Mark held the glass up to the light to be sure it was now smudge-free. "You give us so many opportunities for testing."

"Nice." Steve watched him return to the kitchen and then bent his head for a sip of the cocoa he was nursing in his curled hands.

"Anybody else coming that I don't know about?" Mark called back over his shoulder.

Steve considered. "I don't think so. I would have asked that suitcase lady if somebody had bothered to keep track of her. I would have liked to have given her a commendation - or at least a big kiss. All those cops milling around, and the only reason we didn't lose the guy was because of her. I hope she found her suitcase at least."

"Mm."

Steve could hear the snap of a dishtowel from the kitchen.

"What was in that suitcase, anyway?"

"Body parts," Steve answered matter-of-factly, taking another sip of his cocoa.

Mark returned to the doorway, his face screwed up in disgust. "You're kidding."

Steve shook his head. "Nope. He was trying to get his girlfriend's remains over the state line. Takes a special kind of cold heart to dismember somebody you've slept with."

Mark shuddered, returning to the kitchen. "Not to mention how unsanitary."

"Yeah, that was my main concern too. I yelled, 'Stop, in the name of hygiene!'"

"You behave, young man, or Santa will be leaving coal in your stocking."

Steve grinned, even though his father couldn't see him. Come to think of it, he should be downstairs wrapping his lame airport gifts right now. He lifted his feet slowly and nudged the carton out of the way to give himself room for his newly acquired monster-movie stance, then paused, staring at the Fed-Ex label on the box. _You know, there was something kind of familiar…_

He moved closer for a better look, measuring the size with his eyes, saw that it was addressed to him. He bent cautiously, trying to get a glimpse of the name of the sender. He caught sight of a small logo image and a wave of joyful relief washed through him. _Now_ it was really Christmas.

…_a very merry Christmas…and a happy new year…let's hope it's a good one…without any fear… _

"Hey!" he called into the kitchen. "Hey, guess what? Your present! It got here after all!"

"I never doubted it would for a minute." Mark's voice floated back, serenely confident.

Steve sank back on the couch, warmed with a sudden Christmas glow. "Well, you know how it is - you can never be sure with the Christmas mail."

There was a pause from the kitchen.

"Oh. The package. Yes, I'm sure that's very nice too."

THE END

_A/N: Thanks for reading - I truly appreciate it. Helps me get over my fear of posting comedy, if this is indeed a comedy, which I can never quite make up my mind about. And while I may be too late to wish you all a Merry Christmas, I figure it's never too late to wish you a wonderful New Year, full of many joys._

_PS Knew you'd take her, Lisa. Strategy beats bulk every time._


End file.
